Page 7 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)

All the dishes were from Pottery Barn and matched. All the towels were monogrammed. Everything had been washed in a layer of beige—beige walls, beige carpeting, beige arguments, beige silences.

But here, everything was strange and eclectic and wonderful.

A window seat in the sun, overlooking a city that seemed ten times brighter and a million times more exciting than where she’d come from.

A walk-in pantry that echoed with laughter and smelled of a dozen tins of tea.

Banana bread from a neighbor she hadn’t known ten minutes ago but now seemed like she’d always been in her life.

The air shifted slightly. A movement in her periphery made her look towards the doorway, and Nell was startled to find a man already there, standing with one hand lightly braced on the doorframe as if he’d been waiting for the right moment to enter.

Wait…not a man. Not quite, anyway. Was his hair dark? Or light? Nell squinted slightly, but even though she was looking right at him, her eyes seemed to not register what she was seeing.

“Hello,” the man said, raising a hand. “I’m Hollis. Husband to the small whirlwind currently ogling your pantry.”

“Oh!” Nell rose automatically. “Of course. She mentioned you.”

He stepped farther into the room, and as he moved, his features snapped into place: olive-toned skin with a pearlescent undertone; dark, close-cropped hair; a finely tailored suit whose price absolutely had a comma in the dollar amount.

She gaped. He smiled.

“She’ll have you over for dinner within the week,” Hollis said, giving a knowing wink. “Don’t fight it. When Jem has an idea, nothing short of an earthquake can stop her.”

Nell laughed like she was trying to prove she belonged in the moment. “I don’t think I’ll mind.”

Hollis tilted his head slightly, the gesture small but precise, like a bird taking stock of its surroundings.

The silence stretched. Nell’s anxiety flared, and before her brain could wrestle her mouth into obedience, she blurted, “What are you?”

The words hit the air like a dropped plate.

“Oh God,” she whispered, slapping a hand over her mouth. She could feel her face turning crimson. “I didn’t mean—I mean I did , but not like that—oh, no—I’m so sorry—”

Her eyes darted toward the half-unpacked boxes. She could repack in twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen if she didn’t cry.

Then, Hollis laughed. It was a low, warm sound. Amused, like he’d heard this exact question more times than he could count and found it charming every time.

“Tariaksuq,” he said, easily, like it was no stranger than saying I’m from Iowa .

He rolled the word with soft precision, the syllables lilting like wind through ice.

“Inuit cryptid. Rough translation: the shadow that moves when you’re not looking.

My features don’t always settle for new eyes.

Give it a few encounters, and you’ll start to see the same face each time.

Jem says I look different when she’s mad at me.

I tell her that’s just self-preservation. ”

Nell let out a strangled laugh. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just—”

He raised a hand, palm out, still smiling. “It’s fine. You should’ve heard what Jem asked the first time we met.”

“Worse than what are you? ”

“ ‘Do your bones move when you sleep? ’” he replied, deadpan. “To which I said: sometimes . She punched me in the shoulder and then married me later anyway.”

Nell let out another startled, but this time honest, laugh.

Hollis stepped a little closer, enough for the air to change slightly around him. “We’re glad you’re here,” he said simply.

The words weren’t loud. But they landed inside her and lifted a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying.

Just for a second, Nell thought she felt the room shift slightly around them, as if the building had heard and given a happy little shudder of agreement.

“Hollis!” Jem popped her head into the room, a tea towel draped over one shoulder like it was a banner of victory. “You weren’t supposed to sneak up on her. That’s my job.”

He turned at the sound of her voice, and a small, fond smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Darling, I adore you, but you couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind octogenarian with noise-canceling headphones.”

“Rude,” Jem declared. “And fair.”

She crossed the room in quick strides and rose on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. The kind of kiss that said: We’ve done this a thousand times, and I’d still choose you every time.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got tomato plants on the roof to transplant before it rains, and I’m not letting you wiggle out of it again.”

“I maintain the moon cycle was wrong,” he murmured, letting her pull him into the hallway.

“I maintain you’re full of it,” Jem retorted. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Bye, Nell! Bye, Goldie! Let us know if you need anything!”

They vanished from the apartment in a whirl of laughter and domestic chaos.

Nell stared at the now-empty doorway. “I’ve never met a human-cryptid couple before,” she said softly, like the admission needed gentle handling.

Goldie emerged from the kitchen, arms draped over the door frame with theatrical elegance. “Oh, honey. Welcome to Bellwether.”

She strolled into the living room and flopped onto the couch, “Seriously, those two are the gold standard of interspecies couple goals. Jem told me they met at a city-sponsored community mediation workshop, if you can believe it. She was trying to get her previous apartment exorcised, Hollis was running the spiritual zoning audit, and they’ve been disgustingly in love ever since. ”

Nell laughed softly. “They just fit. It’s so…wholesome. ”

Goldie sighed. "I hate them. I love them. I want what they have. But, like, maybe with someone whose face doesn't shift like a mood ring."

She picked at a loose thread on the throw pillow.

"I've been on exactly three dates since moving to Bellwether.

One guy turned out to be literally made of fog.

Which, fine, but the communication issues were insurmountable.

Another was sweet but kept trying to read my aura during dinner.

And the third..." She grimaced. "Let's just say never date a shapeshifter who's still finding themselves . "

Nell snorted. “You deserve hazard pay for that,” she said—then her stomach gave a sudden growl. She winced, patting it like a misbehaving dog. “Okay, real talk: I might not be ready to date, but I am ready to eat. Pizza?”

Goldie perked up. “Now that I can do.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans and wiggled it triumphantly. “There’s a cryptid-friendly joint nearby that I love. Half the menu’s enchanted, and the crust’s got this magical garlic seasoning that is more addictive than crack. My treat.”

“Wait—enchanted how?”

“You’ll see,” Goldie grinned. “But if the anchovies start singing, don’t make eye contact.”

—

The apartment glowed with the soft hush of early evening.

Boxes had been shoved aside, piled into temporary homes.

The banana bread had been devoured completely, and two mugs of tea sat forgotten on the window seat.

Goldie was curled sideways on the couch, one hand scrolling absently through her phone while the other traced lazy sigils on the back of a throw pillow.

The air buzzed with comfort and the quiet exhale of a day done right. Then: ding.

“Pizza’s here!” Goldie exclaimed, swiping at a notification.

Nell stretched, her muscles pleasantly sore from a day that actually felt good. “I’ll go grab it. It’ll give me a break from the great box migration.”

Goldie gave a mock salute. “Tip the delivery guy extra if he’s got scales.”

Nell chuckled, slipped her feet into her shoes, and padded toward the hallway. The building felt calm, but also awake. The lights along the walls burned warmly. The sconces flickered like they were remembering fire.

She reached the elevator just as it arrived with a quiet, courteous chime.

The doors sighed open. There was someone already inside. Tall. Still. Unmistakably not human.

His head was humanoid. Mostly. A high brow, sharply defined cheekbones, and a jaw just a little too long.

A fine layer of silvery fuzz dusted his skin.

Above his brow, two antennae flicked twice, and Nell felt it like a change in barometric pressure.

One long-fingered, darkly clawed hand rested loosely at his side.

“Ms. Townsend,” he said.

His voice vibrated, soft and low, and Nell’s heart knifed in response. It wasn’t echo or distortion, but something deeper, like a second version of the words was humming just under the first.

“Oh…uh.” She coughed and stepped forward. “Hi.”

He stepped smoothly aside to make room. “Please.”

She entered. The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss. Nell had to tilt her head back practically all the way to look at him, and even then, it didn’t feel like enough.

“How do you—how do you know my name?” she blurted, immediately regretting it. Nell, you’re still practically a guest in this building. You can’t just go around interrogating cryptids in elevators with stupid questions.

She was again calculating how fast she could re-pack her car.

But the tall figure just clicked softly, cocking his head in a small, insectile gesture.

“A new tenant is always a source of much discussion and joy. Your arrival is all the building has spoken about. The walls vibrated with it this morning. A pleasure-song. We have not had one in some time.”

Nell’s stomach dropped and flipped and dropped again. “Um…the walls vibrated?”

He gave a slow, solemn nod. Click. “They are already fond of you.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, then managed: “And you are…?”

“I am Sig Samora.” His lipless mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “It is pleasing to make your acquaintance.”

“Nell,” she replied. “Nell Townsend. I just—well. I guess you already knew that.”

“I did,” he said. He blinked slowly, eyelids sliding sideways across glowing irises.